Prompt: write a surreal prose poem.
Snowflakes
The first time I caught a snowflake, hand outstretched in the blustery winter wind, cheeks upturned toward the nearer-than-believable, sight-shy sun, I do not recall.
The first snowflake I tasted, tongue dancing eagerly, straining for first-hand knowledge of the magical, mysterious crystallized droplet, evades my capacity for memory.
The first icy confetto that landed, melting immediately, on the tip of my too-pointy nose, was too subtle and tender and sweet and soft to ever be forgotten.